


thus always

by kitmarlowed



Category: Kings (TV 2009)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Murder/Suicide References, s2e01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 01:36:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2794979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitmarlowed/pseuds/kitmarlowed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a glimpse of the season two that could've been</p><p>sic semper tyrannis</p>
            </blockquote>





	thus always

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lorax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorax/gifts).



Reader, this is a story about God.

This is a story about choice, about a kingdom, a soldier, a prisoner.

No, then. This is not a story about God. This is a story about His people. This is a story about the battles of men. 

\--

“Silas knows how to get what he wants,” says Lucy Wolfson, says a prisoner, says a wife.

“The king,” Jack says, “won’t get this. I won’t let him.”

Lucy moves from the window, moves to stand beside her husband, to stand beside the future of her nation already past, says “baby, he already has.”

\--

David Shepherd decides not to lie. 

From his camp in the forests of some Gath village far enough inside the border to avoid the increased patrols of his countrymen, he makes no pretense to the people he meets that he is other than whom he is. He is David Shepherd, and he means no harm to Gath. 

He is David Shepherd and he means harm only to Silas. Sic semper.

Some flock to him, some fight him. He knows he cannot keep himself hidden from the rulers of Gath and so doesn’t overly try. 

A month or so into his exile they find him, black bag him in the night, he hears his campfire put out, hears the orders barked into the cold air, and then he hears nothing. 

 

“You are Captain Shepherd,” someone says and it could’ve been days since he’s heard anyone’s voice but his own. “Your country has not hidden its distaste for you.” 

David is blindfolded but he thinks the owner of the voice is standing just ahead of him, slightly to his left, enough space to swing a sword at his neck. He hopes that if he dies today it’s swift. He doesn’t think he could withstand much torture.

He tries to speak. His throat works but he says nothing. A hand grabs his and he feels plastic, cold plastic, water he thinks and drinks.

He tries again, says, “yes,” a rasp still. “And I haven’t hidden mine for what it’s become. The king-“

“Silas,” the voice tells him.

“Silas,” David amends. “Silas is a tyrant, he’s not what I thought he was.”

When the voice speaks again it comes from behind him, he jolts forward, but the blindfold falls and he blinks into a cold grey room.

There are several military men in the room with him and the one who spoke appears from behind him and smiles. “You now see what Gath has always seen, what Silas is. That doesn’t explain why you’re here, in our country. Hardly safer, I shouldn’t think, for a traitor.”

David watches as the men shift, weapons not drawn but present. He’s so tired, hasn’t been this tired since the front line. It’s a weariness in his bones, an ache in his chest. He hangs his head and waits. There’s no answering that.

“We are not going to kill you, Shepherd. But neither will we gift you our servicemen to fight your battle with Silas. You may go back to your wilderness, stay there. Should you amass your own troops and take Gilboah so be it, should you die alone it is no concern of ours. You understand, of course.”

David nods. “You can’t be seen to support me,” he says, “or Silas will redouble his war effort and try to destroy you.”

The man, by his foreign medals perhaps a general, smiles again, says “your erstwhile king has always sought our destruction, boy. Just as he will always seek yours.”

He barely has time to register that before the world goes black again.

 

He wakes up in a cave and to a local woman of Ziklag knelt at his side, a glass of water in one hand and the other loosely at her side. 

David makes some small noise so as not to frighten her when he pushes himself to sit up. 

“You’re awake,” she says with a smile. “We saved some food for you.”

David takes the water when she offers it, asks, “Who’s we?”

“The others and I.” She nods to the entrance. “It’s only a stew but it does the trick.”

She sits with him as he sips slowly, tells him he’d been gone for a week and a couple of days, explains that when the soldiers brought him back people started coming to the camp. According to her there are twenty one people, men and women both, waiting for him to wake up. She says they brought weapons, calls it a ‘mini army’ with a laugh.

David sits back. “Why, though?” he asks. “I haven’t done anything.”

“You’ve done so much,” the girl says, grinning. “You’re David Shepherd.”

He smiles at her. “I know.”

She asks him if he’s strong enough to stand.

He finally thinks he is.

\--

Lucy watches Jack. Not that she has anything else to watch save the birds outside the window that faces the gardens not the city, it would be improper, she has been told, the people must not see the Prince in comfort. Lucy bites her tongue, Jack is not comfortable and neither is she. 

Jack hasn’t touched her. She isn’t surprised, she’s not that worried either. She knows her role in this.

She rests a hand on his shoulder, murmurs: “you haven’t slept in days, what are you thinking about?”

“Escape,” he tells her, jaw tight. He looks at her, feral eyes bright. “Doesn’t have to be out that door.”

Lucy sighs. “I’m not going to murder you, Jack.”

Jack shakes his head. “No,” he says. “This is what you always wanted.”

She doesn’t reply. They’ve had this conversation too many times now for it to matter to him whether she talks or not. He knows her thoughts on this, he knows her thoughts on everything. They’ve exhausted all possible venues of conversation and he’s barely said a word.

He goes weeks without speaking sometimes. She can’t even hide from his sight.

Thomasina visits one day in winter and Lucinda finally tastes the air of a different room. She can’t hear what’s said and doesn’t imagine Jack will tell her. She just breathes and looks, takes in every detail of this room, this brightness she’s almost forgotten can exist.

They usher her back inside after five or ten minutes.

“Nothing’s changed,” says Jack, nodding towards the door. 

Lucy shrugs. “Are you going to tell me what they wanted?” she asks, slipping her dress from her shoulders and grabbing the nearest shirt, Jack’s she thinks. 

Jack watches her, the quiet vicious watchfulness he knows is unsettling. He shakes his head.

\--

Gath, it turns out, has long been a refuge for the enemies and former citizens of Gilboah. David can barely move for familiar accents, all voicing the same grievances. They have over two hundred now, and it’s always growing and he still doesn’t know why they trust him or what they want from him. 

Every now and again he dreams he’s back there, in Shiloh, and this time he can see the hatred behind Silas’ calm. He protects Michelle, this time, and Jack doesn’t hate him. He always wakes up more confused than before about where it all went wrong.

God doesn’t speak to him, he’s barely seen a sign in months. He doesn’t know whether to wrest Gilboah from Silas, or to wait and let God tear the place apart further.

He hopes Michelle is alright. He hopes Jack is alright. 

\--

Rose had grown tired of being watched anyway, she tells herself this when the stifling enclosure gets too much. She watches her husband grow cruel, she watches him turn more like her. Godless and conniving. 

She misses Jack, but needs must. She misses Michelle, but her safety is all there is.

Her children are alive, aren’t they?

\--

Jack dreams of David, dreams of dub blond humility – the world laid at his feet screaming we love you don’t go! They never screamed that for him, they never screamed for him at all, not truly. Sure he’s had fans, the rabid party-goers happy to have a royal in their midst, but never the adoration David had gained from a fluke of fate. Slayer of Goliath, the history books won’t forget that no matter what Silas cuts. The Book of David.

The Book of Not Jack. The Book of David alone and unknowing, beloved by all and beloved by Jack.

He can’t beat Silas from a cage and he won’t join him. So he’ll fight with David, for David. 

Escape, then, it won’t be easier but he can die trying if he must.

\--

Reader, this tangled web doesn’t end. Won’t end with bloodshed, with the deaths of Silas, Jack, Rose. Won’t merely end with David triumphant, a duly anointed king. 

Reader, what do you think will happen?

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY HOLIDAYS AND HOPE YOU ENJOYED


End file.
